


Spooky Scary Skeletons

by Stairre



Series: Love Bites (But So Do I) [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, But also, Don't copy to another site, Dressing your vampire boyfriend up as a vampire for Halloween, Halloween, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Summoning your dead ex on Halloween, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stairre/pseuds/Stairre
Summary: Drift reaches out, picks up the set of fake plastic vampire fangs at the Halloween display, and sets out in search of Rodimus.---In which Drift and Rodimus are Too Cute A Couple for the rest of the world to handle, Minimus gets done dirty by a cheap Halloween costume, and inviting your current boyfriend to watch as you summon your ex-boyfriend's ghost could have been more awkward if Drift were any less a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Past Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Springer
Series: Love Bites (But So Do I) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993855
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Spooky Scary Skeletons

**Love Bites (But So Do I)**

**Spooky Scary Skeletons**

–

Drift reaches out, picks up the set of fake plastic vampire fangs at the Halloween display, and sets out in search of Rodimus.

He finds him in the cleaning products aisle, because even real-life vampires need to wash their clothes and scrub out their baths. Rodimus definitely knows he’s there – can hear him, smell him, sense him from likely all the way across the store – but Drift still acts like he’s sneaking up behind, placing one hand over Rodimus’ eyes and saying “Guess who?”

Rodimus laughs. “Hm,” he says, “is that you, Count Dracula? We haven’t seen each other for centuries!”

Drift chuckles. “Not quite. Guess again.”

“Hmm,” Rodimus draws the hum out this time. “Is it… Count Orlok?”

“That’s just a knock-off version of Dracula,” Drift tuts. “Last chance.”

“Is it… my handsome boyfriend, Drift?” Rodimus asks, turning around with a grin. “Why, it is!”

Drift snorts, letting his hand fall away from Rodimus’ eyes. “Came to discuss Halloween costumes with you – they’ve got the display up somewhere different than last year.”

“Oh, and what might you have decided for mine?” Rodimus asks. “You’re already going as an evil nurse, so…?”

Silently, Drift presents the plastic vampire fangs.

Rodimus’ loud laugh gets them a huff and a side-eye from an older woman bustling by to get to the dishwasher tablets, but neither of them care.

–

They show up at Minimus’ door, Rodimus in a thin plastic cape with a high collar, white face paint hiding his freckles and cheap fangs in his mouth, and Drift in a pair of old scrubs that are stained with fake blood and a plastic stethoscope around his neck. Minimus looks like he’s about to close the door on them the instant he sees them.

“C’mon, Mags!” Rodimus whines, his foot keeping the door open. “It’s Halloween! Show us a little of that spooky spirit!”

“This is an over-commercialised parody of a so-called holiday that bears little to no resemblance to its origins,” Minimus says seriously. “It exists in its current form for companies to make money, with no regard for the very real changes within the spiritual veils.”

“Yes, yes, capitalism is bad, drain the blood of the rich, blah blah blah,” Rodimus says. “We know all this, Mags – but we just wanna have fun, y’know? It’s amazing that Drift’s off this year: holidays are when idiots end up at the clinic and Drift’s just celebrating having a stress-free night for once. So would you _please_ come out and join us?”

Minimus hesitates, eyes darting to Drift, who stands waiting patiently.

“C’mon, we even have a costume for you,” Rodimus cajoles.

Minimus sighs. He opens the door, Rodimus retracting his foot. “What are you subjecting me to this year?” he asks, warily.

Rodimus pulls out a pair of fuzzy fox ears on a headband.

Minimus slams the door shut.

–

They _don’t_ end up going bar hopping, the way a lot of the adults are. Drift doesn’t drink, neither does Minimus, and Rodimus tends more towards soft drinks or cranberry juice than alcohol, though he doesn’t mind having a pint every now and again. Of the three of them, Drift is – obviously – the only one that doesn’t drink blood.

Minimus is dressed up in a very sensible-looking coat, smart slacks and black leather shoes. The only thing missing from his _business executive set loose_ image is a briefcase, and if it weren’t for the fox ears rising from his head, he might be mistaken for one.

(Drift knows that Minimus is, in fact, a lawyer, not a business executive. There’s not much of a visible difference between the two.)

The three of them trail down the streets, skirting around groups of children, some accompanied by parents, some by older siblings, and some lingering in the age where they’re young enough to trick-or-treat, but old enough to go without supervision. There’s a menagerie of costumes, most of them plastic and fake-looking like their own, but some are clearly re-used cosplays or have had weeks of work put into them.

“Nice,” Rodimus remarks, gazing at someone in a brown Jedi cloak holding a plastic lightsabre. “Next year?” he turns his head to Drift. “Could go as Han and Chewbacca, or – oh, Han and Leia! _Please_ let me be Leia.”

Drift chuckles. “Depends whether I’m off,” he says, and inside his chest he feels something warm curl up and tuck itself inside. _Next year,_ Rodimus says. Because Rodimus wants him around, is making long-term plans to _be_ around, and Drift has spent a life-time chasing after that sense of belonging, that casual kind of love that Rodimus just _exudes_.

“And,” Rodimus turns his eyes on Minimus, “you can be Yoda. Or an Ewok.”

“This isn’t another crack about my height, is it?” Minimus asks, resigned.

Rodimus pauses, stilling in the street. Drift and Minimus nearly walk by him, before they realise and turn to stop. “You’ve never seen _Star Wars?”_

Minimus sighs. “No,” he says, “no, I have not seen _Star Wars._ I was busy hunting with Dominus through Scandinavia in the seventies and eighties, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Rodimus hums. “Yeah, you were.”

“Dominus?” Drift asks. He hasn’t heard that name before.

“Mags’ brother,” Rodimus tells him. “Nice guy. They go on hunting trips a couple of times a century: just fold down into foxy form and leave society behind for a few years. Good way to get rid of stress, I think, go back to the old days. Like how you lot go on camping trips: all the fun, none of the worry.”

“Huh,” Drift absorbs that. It makes sense, he supposes. Rodimus and Minimus have to move every few years, to keep up the illusion that they age, and moving around like that, constantly uprooting oneself, is exhausting for a human, let alone someone who has to conceal that they’re not…

He wonders what decisions Rodimus will make, a few years from now, when he can no longer just say that he _ages well,_ when people begin to wonder why the twenty-something looking man doesn’t seem to ever become a thirty-something.

Rodimus takes Drift’s hand in his own, curling his cold fingers into Drift’s warm ones. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go get something to offer and then head down to the old cemetery. I’ve got an old friend there I want to talk to tonight.”

“I’ve got some offerings in my pocket,” Minimus says quietly. “I thought we might end up there, though I was going to go anyway. We don’t have to delay.”

“At least one of us is prepared,” Rodimus says thankfully.

_What does that mean?_ Drift wonders, but doesn’t say as he lets Rodimus lead the way, shoving the hand his boyfriend isn’t holding inside a pocket. He’s not cold – it’s been an unusually mild October thus far – but if he stands around much longer he might end up going that way. It’s still a late Autumn night, after all.

They drift out of the streets filled with people, trailing through a couple of underpasses, away from the centre, alongside the river, and out into the older part of the city. Drift glances around the half-familiar streets – just as run-down as always. Here he can see a boarded up old pizza takeaway whose back alley used to be the best place to get weed, and there he can see the graffiti-covered skate park teenagers used to truant in.

It’s strange, being back here. No, stranger is being back here in his past when his present – and, hopefully, _future –_ is leading the way, sure and steady. Drift clutches Rodimus’ hand harder, and shakes his head a little at the questioning glance. Not tonight.

The three of them emerge into a slightly-overgrown-around-the-edges cemetery, Minimus closing the creaky metal gate behind them. Drift squints, but all he can see are the shadows and silhouettes of headstones and statues, the light of the street lamp outside the metal fencing not penetrating far enough into the gloom for his human eyes.

His vampire companions, however, walk forward with no hesitation, Drift sidling closer to Rodimus and letting him lead. Rodimus glances at Drift, and then fumbles in his pocket, bringing out his phone and turning on the torch app.

Minimus hands something to Rodimus and leaves them, turning down another path, not bothering with a torch, and Drift and Rodimus let him. A hush falls over them, and Drift shifts slightly awkwardly, feeling strange in his stained scrubs, the plastic stethoscope already taken off and put in his pocket. The night now seems to have left its previous light-heartedness behind, and Drift is a bit uncertain as to whether he should give Rodimus some space, or to keep by his side and be quiet. Surely Rodimus brought him along for a reason, right?

Rodimus stops at a grave, hand leaving Drift’s as he kneels down and places the bundle Minimus gave him on the dewy grass. It’s a plastic bag, the logo of the local supermarket imprinted on the side, and Rodimus rustles inside it and pulls out a candle holder, a white candle, and a miniature Tupperware box with a green lid and something that looks like ash inside it.

Rodimus sets them all down, pulls a lighter out of his pocket – and Drift has asked him before why he always carries a lighter around when he doesn’t smoke, but Rodimus had just grinned and said _never know when you need to set something on fire_ and Drift had let him divert and change the subject – and clicks it with his thumb a couple of times until it sparks. He lights the candle.

For a moment, nothing happens. The candle provides another light source that isn’t Rodimus’ phone – that Drift is now holding – and it’s just a small flame that flickers in the breeze and threatens to go out. There is no change in the atmosphere, nothing spectacular occurs, and Drift is just about to quietly ask who the person was that Rodimus is kneeling at the gravestone of – yes, he can see the name is Springer (Beloved Son and Friend), born 1894, died 1919, but that tells him next to nothing about who this man must have been to Rodimus – when Rodimus starts prying the lid off the Tupperware box.

Rodimus lifts the lid only partially, slipping in his fingers and taking out a pinch of the ashy substance before closing the lid again. Drift watches as he rubs his fingers together and sprinkles the grainy substance in the air over the candle flame.

One moment, two, and then the flame suddenly _leaps,_ growing larger and changing colour, turning first white, then white-blue, then blue-purple. Drift takes a small step back as the thin trail of smoke that was being whipped away by the breeze begins to gather more thickly, turning from grey to white-gold and coalescing into the vague shape of a person, and each moment that passes by gives the figure more features and details.

Rodimus rises from his kneel, wiping his hand off on his plastic-caped front. “Hey, Spring.”

Springer – Springer’s ghost? – blinks a couple of times, before he smiles a smile that’s more of a vicious grin, but with only the implication of potential viciousness. “Roddy,” he says, his voice a whispery echo from nearby. “How have you been?”

“Well, thanks,” Rodimus says, grinning, and for all that Drift is standing in a cemetery on Halloween night and witnessing his vampire boyfriend talk to a ghost he just summoned, there is no particular strangeness in the air, the way horror films have long said there would be. Drift can still hear the grass, the leaves, the rush of cars in the distance and the unhealthy humming of the street lamp. His phone is still blaring out an artificial light and the light chill is still nipping at his fingers. He could be standing at a bus stop for all the solemnity of the scene. “Same old, same old, really. How’s the afterlife?”

Springer clicks his tongue. “You know I can’t tell you that,” he says, “no matter how many times you ask. It’s indescribable. I’ve been well, though. Who’s this?”

Rodimus glances over, and Drift lifts his head, staring straight at Springer in his white-gold translucent eyes. “I’m Drift,” he says, “nice to meet you.” He decides to simply go with the flow for now, and maybe have a quiet freak-out about the way this evening’s going later. It’s not like he didn’t _know_ that the supernatural existed – his boyfriend is a vampire, for fuck’s sake – but he maybe would have liked a bit more warning before Rodimus sprang Springer on him. No pun intended.

Springer nods to him. “Springer,” he says. “Nice to meet you, too.”

They both pause, awkward, and Rodimus jumps in. “Spring,” he says. “Drift’s my boyfriend. Remember how you told me I’d never get that lucky again? Who’s laughing now?”

Springer snorts. “Still me,” he says, but he eyes Drift up and down with a new consideration. “Took you, what? A century since you swore you would get one?”

“I may play a long game, but I play to win,” Rodimus sniffs. “Drift’s worth waiting for.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Drift says, droll, hiding his slight smile at the implicit praise, voice turning teasing and light. “It’s okay, Roddy, it may take you a while but you get it up eventually.”

Rodimus whines as Springer bursts out a loud laugh. “Okay, he’s got my approval,” Springer chortles.

“You two are both so mean to me, and I do not deserve it,” Rodimus says despairingly, though his eyes are bright. Then he brags, “Hey. Hey, Springer. Drift _stabbed_ me when we first met.”

Drift slaps a hand over his face. Through his fingers, he can see Springer blink and reassess him.

“Did you deserve it?” he asks, form flickering around the edges in the breeze.

Rodimus nods. “One hundred per cent,” he says. “And then we went shopping and got furniture and had lemonade. He’s – Drift makes me happy.”

Rodimus looks up at Springer, and Drift realises that, for all Springer’s joking _okay he’s got my approval,_ Rodimus is truly asking for an old friend – maybe even _more_ than an old friend – to tell him that he likes Drift. Perhaps…?

Drift steps up, takes Rodimus’ hand, looks Springer in the face, and says, “I’ll take care of him from here.”

Rodimus swallows, tightens his grip. His hands are cold, and he no longer has a body that needs to perform human functions, but Drift’s willing to bet that if Rodimus were still human, there’d be a nervous sweat and a racing heart right now.

Springer turns a more contemplative gaze between the two of them. “If he’s got you this happy, then you’d better get a ring on that, Roddy. Men like Drift aren’t common.”

Rodimus – relaxes. “I will.”

Springer nods, then wisps closer, peering into Drift’s face. “You’ll have your hands full from here on out,” he says, not exactly warningly, but like he’s giving advice, “but I swear it – Rodimus is worth it.”

Drift nods. “He is.”

Springer stays close one moment longer, before moving back out of Drift’s space, glancing up and down at his stained scrubs. “Okay, now, I know Roddy is ironically going as a vampire, but what are you?”

“Evil nurse,” Drift answers.

“Nurses didn’t dress like that back when I was alive,” Springer says, sceptically.

“Times change,” Rodimus says. “But I’m with you there, Spring – they just don’t make the outfits as sexy as they used to.”

Drift rolls his eyes, but snorts softly. “No such thing as sexy scrubs,” he agrees.

Springer and Rodimus chuckle, and then Springer’s form wavers for a moment, going nearly transparent before becoming translucent once again. Three pairs of eyes go towards the candle, now nearly burnt down.

“Not got long left,” Springer says. “What kind of cheap candle did you buy this year?”

Rodimus shrugs. “It was Minimus’,” he says, “so it’s probably saturated with his energy.” He briefly adds on to Drift, “Candles for use in magic work better if you melt the wax down and make them yourself. Then they’ll work best for you. I tend to just buy them – not a big practitioner – but this was Mags’, so it’s attuned to him, and will work for me worse than a factory-made one.”

“We’ll get something prepared for next year,” Drift tells him, which Rodimus smiles at.

Springer clicks his tongue again. “I’d best get going, then,” he says. “The thinning of the veil only lasts so long – you won’t have time to get a re-summon this night, not properly.”

He nods to Drift, then turns to Rodimus, drifting closer. Rodimus opens his arms and he floats inside, the two of them embracing in a parody of a hug, unable to touch. “I’m glad to see you’ve moved on,” Springer whispers to Rodimus, the words too low for Drift to hear as anything more than a wordless murmuring. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” Rodimus murmurs back, closing his eyes for a moment. “Sorry, I’d hoped to get more time tonight. We’ll do it properly next year.”

“See that you do,” Springer says, not unkindly. “I want to get to know Drift more.”

They part, and Springer’s form wavers again, clouds drifting apart in the wind. “Farewell,” he says, “and Happy Halloween.”

With that, Springer closes his eyes, and the white-gold cloud loses its shape, first becoming a vaguely human-shaped blob, and then being caught in the breeze once more and dispersed like smoke. On the ground, the candle’s flame flickers out.

–

“Didn’t expect to meet your dead ex-boyfriend tonight, I must admit,” Drift says after they drop Minimus back at his house.

Rodimus hums. “Yeah, sorry, I should have warned you. That wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… I’d almost forgotten, you know?” he trails off.

Drift tilts his head and waits, recognising the sight of a Rodimus chewing on words before speaking them, structuring what he wants to say in his head.

“I’ve spent decades waiting for Halloween to come around again, year after year,” Rodimus admits. “And then this year I got so caught up in you that I nearly forgot. Like – I mean, it’s not a bad thing, _you’re_ not a bad thing, and it’s not you who’s to blame, but. I used to count down the days, looking backwards, and now I look forwards and – count up? Eh, this metaphor doesn’t really work, but – I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too,” Drift says, “even if you did try to drink my blood.”

Rodimus gives out an amused huff. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Again.”

“How’d you meet Springer?” Drift asks.

“In a gay bar,” Rodimus answers. “Not exactly as exciting as you, but, you know. Quite illegal back then. We were good together. I – he died – Spanish influenza – and. I could have saved him. Turned him into a vampire, but – he said _no._ And I respected that. And then he was gone and I regretted it, but I know I would have regretted it more if I did it against his wishes and he spent the next eternity mad with me, but at the same time try telling my heart that.”

“He sounds like he meant a lot to you,” Drift says softly.

“He did,” Rodimus closes his eyes, “the whole world. But. Life didn’t end when the world did, and I promised him – I _promised –_ that I would move on and love again. And – here you are.”

They walk in silence on for a bit, the streets now clear of children, the hour turning something like two in the morning. Drift can see his breath hanging in the air. The sound of Rodimus’ cheap plastic cape, now folded and draped over his arm, as it crinkles a little in the breeze, is the only accompaniment they have other than their footsteps.

“Come on,” Drift says, taking Rodimus’ cold hand in his own, “I think there’s still some marshmallows left in the packet. Let’s go toast them before bed.”

“What, over a candle?” Rodimus asks.

“Whatever works,” Drift shrugs.

“I think I have those pumpkin spice packets in the cupboard,” Rodimus says. “Latte and skull-shaped marshmallows? What do you say?”

“What more could a man want out of life?” Drift asks, and they turn their feet towards home.

**Author's Note:**

> So, anyway, you remember how I said this wasn't going to be a series and then I made it a series? Whoops. Also: I started this thing _yesterday_ , which really wasn't the best idea. Whoops again.
> 
> Happy Halloween, everybody!
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](https://stairre.tumblr.com/). Come and say hello!


End file.
